The Scandalous Adventures of the Sister of the Bride

by Victoria Alexander

  “Dear Lord.” Beryl’s brow furrowed. “It’s sounds dreadfully dull when you say it that way.”

  “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “Well, you were flirting.”

  “Goodness, Delilah, I’m reformed not dead. A few flirtatious words are nothing to get in a snit about. It’s not as if I threw him on the floor and had my way with him.” She met her sister’s gaze directly. “And you’re scarcely one to talk. I’ve certainly seen you flirt. Why, if I recall correctly, you flirted quite a bit with Grayson this past Christmas.”

  Delilah ignored her. “I suppose you can’t help yourself.”

  “Nor do I wish to.” Beryl considered the other woman. “Now that we have thoroughly dissected my character or lack of it, do you care to tell me what is going on here?”

  “Not especially.” Not at all! “Can I avoid it?”

  “Why, certainly you can, dear, if you want us to go back to being the kind of sisters who only see each other at weddings or funerals. Oh, Camille will be dreadfully upset and annoyed with both of us.” She raised a shoulder in a nonchalant shrug. “And I have to admit I rather enjoy having a sister who seems to be a bit more like me in character than my identical twin.”

  Delilah started to protest then thought better of it. She blew a resigned breath. “What do you want to know?”

  “All of it of course.”

  “Very well. But I do need to fix my hair.”

  “At the very least.”

  Delilah turned and started up the stairs, her sister at her heels. “I suppose I should start at the beginning.”

  “The beginning is always an excellent place to start although, on occasion, the end might be more interesting.”

  “The end?”

  “The argument I interrupted sounded most interesting. Nearly as interesting as your somewhat disheveled appearance and the fact that your bodice is misbuttoned.”

  Delilah reached her hand around to feel her buttons and winced. “That’s how they’re wearing them in Paris.”

  “Odd, I hadn’t heard that.”

  “I don’t have a maid here,” Delilah added. “I had to do it myself.”

  Behind her, Beryl heaved a long-suffering sigh. “My dear little sister, one must always insist a gentleman assist in re-dressing. It’s a cardinal rule of indiscretion.”

  “There was no indiscretion,” she said sharply. At least not last night. “Nothing happened.”

  “Perhaps that’s why you were both in such a foul mood.” They reached the first floor and Beryl glanced at the doorway into the parlor then drew up short and stared. “What on earth happened here?”

  “A minor accident.” Delilah waved off the question. “Nothing of significance.”

  “An accident?” Beryl stepped into the parlor and scanned the room. “It doesn’t look like an accident.” She crossed the room to the cabinet, bent down, and picked up a large piece of porcelain. Her gaze shifted from the piece in her hand to the remaining snuffboxes. “Indeed, I would suspect it was more in the manner of . . .” She met her sister’s gaze. “Vengeance?”

  Delilah shrugged.

  “This financial difficulty of yours. If I had to guess, as apparently I do since you are not being nearly as forthcoming as you should, I would surmise that it had something to do with a late husband. A late husband who was perhaps fond of very expensive antique snuffboxes. How accurate would that supposition be?”

  “Fairly.”

  Beryl’s brow rose.

  “Very accurate then.” Delilah sighed.

  She didn’t know why she resisted telling Beryl everything. Camille would surely tell her after all. But when she had revealed her financial problem to Camille, she hadn’t felt like quite as much of an idiot as she felt today. And, even though she and Beryl still weren’t particularly close, she did hate for this sister to think poorly of her. Regardless, it appeared she had no choice. She drew a deep breath.

  “About six weeks ago a claim was made against Phillip’s estate by a man who claimed to be his heir. My accounts were unavailable to me until a determination as to the validity of the claim could be ascertained.” She shrugged. “That’s it, really.”

  “I see.” Beryl gestured with the piece in her hand. “And this is because your late husband had an heir you knew nothing about?”

  “No, this is because I learned Phillip couldn’t have an heir because Phillip was unable to have children at all.” There was no need to tell Beryl the rest of it.

  “And you didn’t know?”

  “I had no idea.”

  “But this does solve the problem of the claim against the estate?”

  “I hope so.”

  “That’s something anyway.” Beryl placed the broken piece on the shelf. “I must say, though, I admire your restraint.”

  “My restraint?”

  “Indeed.” Understanding glimmered in Beryl’s eyes. “I would have broken them all.”

  Delilah smiled reluctantly. “I may not be finished.”

  “That explains the mess but not the American.”

  “He is much easier to explain.” She shrugged. “Mr. Russell accompanied me from Millworth. He had business to attend to here and I needed to meet with my solicitor.”

  “And?”

  “And, that’s all there is to it.”

  Beryl’s brow rose in a skeptical manner.

  “Good Lord, Beryl, there’s really nothing more to it than that.” She heaved a frustrated sigh. “I was upset over learning the truth about Phillip even though it does mean my life will soon be back to normal. We stayed here longer than we should have and missed the last train so we spent the night. In separate rooms,” she added.

  “Excellent explanation, dear, as far as it goes.” Beryl settled on the sofa and smiled pleasantly, as if they were about to take tea or something equally innocuous. “Yet nothing you have said explains why he was accusing you of marrying for financial gain and why you think he’s a foolish romantic who is bound to have his heart broken. Again apparently.”

  Delilah stared. “How much did you hear?”

  “Quite a lot.” Beryl shook her head. “It seemed rude to interrupt as you were both so passionate. And I do hate to be rude.”

  “Then you know everything,” Delilah snapped.

  “Oh, I don’t believe I do.” Beryl studied her sister closely. “There’s more between you and the ever so dashing Mr. Russell than you are letting on.”

  “Not really.” Delilah sat down beside her sister. “We simply clashed upon our initial meeting, that’s all. Now we have agreed to be friends.”

  “My dear, dear little sister.” Beryl shook her head in a mournful manner. “I don’t believe a word of that. One does not discuss reasons for marriage at the top of one’s lungs with a mere friend. And certainly not a male friend. There’s more to it than you’re saying.”

  “Don’t be absurd.”

  “I’m not. I am shockingly perceptive. And very persistent. I do not give up easily.” She paused. “And while I do enjoy a juicy tidbit of gossip, when it comes to something very important, popular opinion aside, I can keep a secret.”

  “There isn’t . . .” Delilah studied her sister. “Can you really?”

  “It has always seemed to me that the first step to a solid relationship be that with a man or a woman or a sister, is trust.” She leaned toward Delilah and met her gaze directly. “You’ve had no reason to trust me in the past but no reason not to trust me either as we have never shared confidences before. As your sister, I’m asking you to trust me now.” She smiled. “If one only has two sisters it does seem a pity to squander one.” A gleam of amusement sparked in her blue eyes. “And the more interesting one at that.”

  Delilah stared at her for a long moment. Why not? “Oh, very well then.” Besides, she was tired of having no one to talk to about Sam other than herself. “You do understand I have told no one this.”

  “Those are the very best kind of secrets.�
�

  Delilah drew a deep breath. “I first met him in New York. We had a . . . an adventure together, if you will.”

  “You?” Surprise rang in Beryl’s voice.

  “This is not going to go well if you’re going to be shocked by everything I say,” Delilah said sharply.

  “I daresay I won’t be shocked by everything now that the initial shock is over.” Beryl shook her head. “I simply didn’t expect this sort of revelation from you.” Her brow furrowed. “I am assuming when you say adventure you mean of the amorous kind?”

  Delilah nodded. “I’d never been with anyone besides Phillip before so it was quite, well, a revelation.”

  “A revelation?”

  “Are you shocked again?”

  “Not yet but do go on.” Beryl cleared her throat. “A revelation, you say?”

  Delilah continued, the words coming faster almost of their own accord. “Well, yes. But that was certainly not the sort of thing I do. Of course, I expected never to see him again. After all an adventure should be finite. And indeed, I told him I had no desire to see him again. Surely you understand?”

  “I suppose. But never when the adventure was a revelation.”

  “Although admittedly, he didn’t appear to feel the same but he did agree. So you can imagine my shock when he appeared at Millworth without warning for Camille’s wedding with an absurd business proposal about horseless carriages and a very, well, smug attitude. The man can be most annoying.”

  “He does seem to have that potential,” Beryl said thoughtfully. “It’s the amused look in his eye I think.”

  “But he is awfully nice as well, which is also oddly annoying.” Delilah leaned closer to her sister. “I was dreadful to him at Millworth, very nearly rude most of the time. And I thought I should apologize and try to be nicer. So I went to his room and . . .”

  Beryl’s eyes widened. “Oh my.”

  “Oh my is something of an understatement I’m afraid.” She sighed. “You and I have much more in common than I had ever dreamed.”

  “My apologies,” Beryl murmured.

  “It’s not your fault.” Delilah waved off her sister’s comment. “It must run in the blood. But we did agree, Sam and I, that it would not happen again. Which does seem best, all in all.”

  “And last night?”

  “I said nothing happened. But . . .” She buried her face in her hands. “I wanted it to.”

  “And he didn’t?”

  “Oh no, he did.” Her words were muffled by her hands but she wasn’t quite ready to see the knowing look in her sister’s eyes. “But I had had a bit too much to drink and he said he would not take advantage . . .”

  “The beast,” Beryl murmured.

  “He was a perfect gentleman.”

  “One could say that was good and bad news, I suppose.”

  Delilah lifted her head. “He is a decent sort, really, for an American.”

  “Will wonders never cease?”

  “And he is proving to be an excellent friend.”

  “That’s something.”

  “I suppose.”

  “One more thing—” Beryl paused. “You said you and Mr. Russell—”

  “Sam.” She sighed. “His friends call him Sam.”

  “Didn’t you have a dog named Sam?”

  “I did.” She stared at her sister. “I can’t believe you remembered.”

  “No one ever gives me credit for being thoughtful.” Beryl sniffed. “As I was saying, you and Sam agreed that it would never happen again. So the question is—is that what you want?”

  “Absolutely.” Delilah paused. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  “Just idle curiosity. There does seem to be something between you.”

  “There isn’t, not really,” she said firmly. “Admittedly, I have not been able to get him out of my mind since New York but . . .”

  “But?”

  “I find him frightening.”

  Beryl frowned. “Because you can’t get him out of your head?”

  “Partially. And he makes me feel . . . things.” She absently picked at a bit of lint on her dress. “You see, I fell in love with Phillip and he, well, it sounds so trite and rather pathetic really.”

  “Go on.”

  “He didn’t share my feelings. And he broke my heart.” She raised her chin. “I will not allow that to happen again.”

  “I see.” A sage note sounded in Beryl’s voice.

  “What do you see?”

  “Well, from what you have said, and from what I overheard, your Mr. Russell thinks the main reason for marriage should be love. And you have a more practical view of the matter.”

  “Indeed I do.” She drew a deep breath. “It simply seems to me that if two people who are completely perfect for each other cannot find love then love between two people who have nothing in common is out of the question. And one if not both hearts will surely be broken.”

  “My, that is practical of you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Although, one of the difficulties with love is that it tends not to be the least bit practical.” Beryl studied her closely. “Are you in love with him?”

  “No, of course not. That would be absurd and foolish and an enormous mistake.”

  “We wouldn’t want that,” Beryl murmured.

  “Exactly.” Delilah shook her head. “Good Lord, Beryl I have never met any man who was so completely wrong for me. Love does not conquer all, you know.”

  “I suppose not.” Beryl considered her sister for a moment. “I may not be one to talk given that neither of my marriages were for love. When I married my first husband, I married for the reasons we were all expected to marry. But Charles was a charming man and I did love him even if I was not in love with him. Do you understand the difference?”

  Delilah nodded.

  “I married Lionel for similar reasons. Title, money, ambition. He will be prime minister one day, you know.”

  “Yes, you’ve mentioned that.” Over and over and over again. Beryl’s ambition for her husband matched his own.

  “We were both living our own lives really, having any number of well, adventures, and then the oddest thing happened.” A smile that might well be called sweet on anyone else curved Beryl’s lips. “One minute were we amicable companions and the next . . .” Her gaze met Delilah’s. “We realized we couldn’t live without each other. We further discovered we preferred adventure with each other rather than with other people. It was shocking and utterly wonderful. Love caught us entirely unawares.” She shrugged, as if somewhat embarrassed by the revelation.

  “But you and Lionel are not from completely different worlds,” Delilah pointed out. “Why, if any two people were expected to find love one would anticipate it would be the two of you.”

  “Perhaps.” Beryl chose her words with care. “Still, one of the most marvelous things about love is that it is completely unexpected.”

  “Nonetheless, I am neither in love with Sam, nor do I intend to allow that to happen.”

  “If you aren’t already?”

  “I’m most definitely not.” Delilah ignored a stab of doubt and set her chin. “My plan is to marry again for practical reasons. Precisely as you did.”

  “I’m not sure I would advise following in my footsteps, although my life has turned out to be better than I could have imagined. We all have to tread our own paths, Delilah.”

  “Exactly as I am doing.”

  “Very well then, you certainly don’t need advice from me.” She reached out and patted her sister’s hand. “However, I do so love giving advice and I am very good at it, so don’t hesitate to come to me again. I plan on being at Millworth within the week. Perhaps sooner now that I can see how very much I am needed.” She cast her sister a smug smile. “You can’t get this kind of advice from Camille, you know.”

  “And you won’t tell her about this?”

  “Absolutely not.” Beryl huffed with indignation. “I gave you my word
after all not to repeat any of this to anyone. Although admittedly, if Camille were to say to me directly, ‘Did you know that Delilah is in love with Mr. Russell?’ why I would hate to lie to her.”

  “I never said that,” Delilah said quickly, then realized her mistake. “I mean I’m not in love with him.”

  “Of course not. That would be foolish.”

  “It would indeed.”

  Beryl nodded. “And absurd.”

  “Completely.”

  “Not to mention an enormous mistake.”

  “Without question.”

  “Still, you have made other mistakes,” Beryl said thoughtfully.

  “Who hasn’t?”

  “Falling in love with him isn’t your worst.”

  “No, of course not. It’s . . .”

  Beryl arched a knowing brow.

  “That was a . . .” Delilah searched for the right word.

  “Let’s just call it something you did not intend to admit, shall we? Not to me and certainly not to yourself.” Beryl studied her sister for a long moment. “There is one thing you should keep in mind, however.”

  Delilah sighed. “And what is that?”

  “The very best adventures, my dear sister.” Beryl smiled. “Are those that never end.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Good day, Lady Hargate, Mr. Russell.” William greeted Delilah and Sam at Millworth’s front door. The young footman had a definite harried air about him. “Welcome home.”

  “Good day, William.” Sam nodded a greeting. It wasn’t the most he’d said all day but it was close.

  His visit to the investigator’s had been uneventful but, aside from telling her that, he’d had very little to say on the trip back from London. She’d made no effort to converse with him either; there was entirely too much on her mind. Her conversation with Beryl kept repeating itself in her head. All she’d said and all she’d almost said and what any of it meant. If indeed it meant anything at all. And she was more confused than ever.

  Not that she had time to dwell on that. First, she had to come up with a plausible explanation as to why she and Sam had stayed the night in London.

  “Thank you, William.” Delilah handed him her mantle and glanced around the grand foyer. The house struck her as oddly quiet. “Where is Clement?”